


This Wasn't in the Design

by matskreider



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Daddy Kink, M/M, Rentboy Eames, Yakuza, inception ain't a possibility in this verse, mob boss Saito, pet kink, pretty woman AU but a little bit kinkier, sugar baby Eames, sugar daddy Saito, younger Eames as well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-09 19:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5552207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matskreider/pseuds/matskreider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saito wasn't looking for a pet. But he found one.<br/>Eames wasn't looking for a partner. But he found one.<br/>Neither liked love. But they had it.</p><p>It's a Pretty Woman AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The sun had finished its journey through the sky approximately 4 hours ago. In that time, Saito had finished his work for the day, and took his car to a bar to unwind. His personal storage of alcoholic beverages was more than enough to relax him on a normal evening, however tonight he had an ulterior motive. Stepping into the establishment, he settled in his usual booth, back to the wall, and his men wandered through the bar. It was rather large, calling it a pub would be too much of a downgrade. Marble flooring allowed for the sounds of heels clicking to echo through the room, and starched white fabric covered every table, but a large expanse of drinks lining the bar wall. Saito frequented here when he needed more than some tea or whisky to relax him – something more primal.

 

Condensation beaded along the outer edge of his glass, clinging to his fingers as he took his hand away from it. He could see several men and women, flirtatiously making their way to where larger parties were seated. From their body language, he knew what they were interested in selling; and, judging by the parties’ reactions, they were interested in buying.

 

Saito didn’t share.

 

He was looking for something a little more intimate.

 

His gaze slides further along the wall, taking in the glass doors, wood paneling, and dips in the lighting. One couple couldn’t wait for the bathroom to free up, and had settled against the far wall, kissing and whimpering against each other’s mouths. The girl had her leg raised up above her partner’s hip, clinging to the other’s body. Her painted fingers dug into the light brown tresses, holding the partner to her neck.

 

Politely averting his gaze from the couple, Saito continues to simply observe. He’s used to having people’s gazes on him, used to hearing the whispers and confused looks when he walks in. Whether it’s the age (he was a fair bit older than anyone else in this establishment), race (not many Japanese men lived where he had built up his corporation), or simply facial recognition (he was a rather popular man, especially with the world’s recent turn towards greener energy), Saito wasn’t sure. Regardless, he didn’t care.

 

It was amazing what a large check for subtlety could secure in this world.

 

In return, he felt he was entitled to a little people watching himself. As he turns his head, focusing now on the bar itself, he locks eyes with a stranger.

 

He’s handsome, but not in the traditional sense. He looks like he’s been in a few fights in his life, but healed better because of it. A hint of a tattoo peeks out of his collar, down by his chest. His hair changes darkness’s and densities in the light, but it’s long enough for Saito to imagine threading his fingers through. His grey eyes hold onto Saito’s gaze, and a single eyebrow quirks upwards. A whimsical smirk tugs at the stranger’s full lips, and Saito knows he has to have him.

 

Raising his hand, he crooks his fingers, making the “come hither” motion at the stranger.

 

He stands, and walks over to him, hips swinging slightly as he takes his steps. It’s obvious what he’s looking for, but he doesn’t flaunt it to the point where it becomes cheap, and obnoxious. It’s subtle, and subtlety is something Saito prizes.

 

The stranger slides into the booth, his white collared shirt opened, jacket sitting on his frame nicely. He’s not as tall as Saito had expected, in fact he doubts that the newcomer is even as tall as he is, but he’s broader in frame. He’s also much younger than Saito had thought from a distance – a man in his thirties from a distance turned out to be a man in his early twenties, if that. It’s unique, and he places his elbow on the table, confident and smooth.

 

“What can I interest you in tonight, daddy?” he murmurs, his British accent equally as out of place in the crowd. He doesn’t sound like the high money people Saito dealt with on a daily basis, but he didn’t sound like the typical rentboy.

 

“That depends,” Saito continues, aware of how these things go. “What are you offering?”

 

The stranger thinks for a moment, full lips pursing a bit as he thinks. He looks down at his lap, before looking up at Saito, through his lashes. It’s something that would look carelessly new on anyone else, but for this man, it works. “Whatever you want, sir. It’s all about pleasing the customer, you see.”

 

“And as for your price?”

 

“I’m a fair bit choosier than most, but I think we can settle on 200.” He seems confident in his words, and Saito can’t help but smirk a bit.

 

“Someone as fair as you deserves a much higher price. How does a thousand sound?” he murmurs, reaching his hand up and cupping the other man’s cheek. Saito notes how the man’s eyes light up, pupils widening and lips parting simultaneously. But he can’t be sure if it’s simply a reaction to the money named or the physical contact.

 

“Sounds like you’ve got a fair deal on your hands, daddy,” he murmurs, leaning into Saito’s touch. His cheek has stubble on it, but it’s not a put off for Saito. He doesn’t look for the fairer ones – not anymore.

 

Saito smiles, and drops his hand, before looking to the door. “Follow my men to your car in, oh, ten minutes. I shall see you in twenty.” Saito then leaves the booth, but doesn’t leave just yet. “Your name, before I depart?”

 

“Eames,” the stranger replies with a brilliant smile. He reaches over and takes Saito’s half fnished drink in his hand, taking a sip directly from it as he watches Saito. “And yours?”

 

“I would be shocked that you do not know who I am,” Saito replies, furrowing his brows, before raising one in challenge.

 

Eames just continues to smile, before giving Saito a nod. “Yes, yes of course, you’re right. But I can never be sure if my clientel wish for their real name to be used.”

 

“There is power in universality,” Saito replies simply, before turning towards the door. “Twenty minutes,” he repeats, in farewell.

 

Eames just chuckles, before looking up at the two men standing at either end of the horseshoe shaped booth. “Well, gents? Care for a drink? Neither of you are the driver for the night, yes?” he chirps, opening his hands to indicate the booth. May as well have some way to pass the time.

* * *

Saito feels more than hears Eames’ groans. The faint vibrating against his teeth and lips as he mouths his way up Eames’ neck were addicting in nature, and he couldn’t help but push the man’s hands to the bed. He’s already hard, after a few rough minutes pinned against the wall by the door, and Saito takes pleasure in knowing that he caused this. By the time they’ve made it to the bed, Eames’s shirt and jacket have long since been stripped from him, leaving him free to experience all that Saito had to offer.

 

The businessman lowers himself against Eames’ writhing body, sucking hard at the juncture between Eames’ shoulder and neck. A red mark is the result, and Saito smirks as he feels Eames buck his hips up.

 

“Yeah, c’mon, give it to me,” the other man mumbles, his accent thickening as he speaks the words.

 

Saito only hums, a disinterested noncommittal sound, and works his fingers down to undoing Eames’ belt. The leather slips off, after the Brit raises his hips, bringing their groins closer together. Desperately, the two disheveled men rock against each other for a few moments, taking pleasure in the sensations felt. After Saito manages to gain some semblance of control, he pulls back from the writhing man, sliding from his body and turning to rummage in the bedside table.

 

“Daddy, _please,_ ” Eames whines, frustrated.

 

“In a moment. Patience is a virtue,” the elder of the two reprimands. He knows that Daddy kinks are definitely a _thing_ in these types of social circles, and while he himself never truly partook in it, he wasn’t actively opposed to it.

 

Never mind the fact that he was, definitely, old enough to be Eames’ father.

 

He returns to Eames’ side, motioning with a single finger for the younger man to roll over. Saito takes in Eames’ sloped and muscled back, bursting with color and lines from all the tattoos the young man had. Most of them were in black ink, but a few colors stood out to him.

 

“Are you ready, sweet one?” Saito asks, sliding his hands over Eames’ arms, guiding them over his head on the soft pillows at the head of the bed.

 

In response, Eames lifts his hips, rocking his ass against Saito’s groin, biting his lower lip as he looks over his shoulder. “Never been surer,” he breathlessly replies.

 

Saito leans down and kisses him, their tongues making a mess of their two mouths. In the moment of distraction, Saito slips handcuffs around Eames’ wrists. Clicking the thin metal shut, he can feel Eames pause, and slowly test his strength against the metal.

 

“I have no doubts you could break free, my dear,” Saito murmurs, pulling back from the kiss and beginning to work Eames’ pants off. “But let us keep the illusion, yes?”

 

“Whatever you say, daddy,” Eames mumbles in reply. When his pants are free, he lifts his hips again, showing off his ass once again. In return, he gets a nice smack, resulting in a long, low moan escaping from his mouth.

 

Saito smirks, and kisses down Eames’ back, tasting the younger man’s skin. Without pause, he spreads the boy’s cheeks and licks against his entrance, causing Eames to make a choked sound. He continues his ministrations, dipping his tongue into Eames’ hole, working him open in a gentle way. His hands squeeze on his cheeks, and it’s only by virtue of an incredibly great capacity for patience that allows Saito to ignore his own arousal for now.

 

When Eames is slicked enough, Saito sits up, slowly working his thumb inside of Eames. The boy groans again, his hips up high to encourage more touching from his client of the night.

 

The elder of the two grabs the lube from the other pillow, and squirts it onto his hand, using the extra slick to open Eames further. Then he in turn slicks his cock, and pulls Eames to roll over onto his back. With the Brit laying prone before him, hands cuffed over his head, Saito rubs his thumb over Eames’ nipples, watching how the brunet’s cock bobs at the touch.

 

“Sensitive, are we?” he murmurs, watching over in interest.

 

“You know it, daddy,” Eames replies, automatically hitching his knees up to his chest, waiting for what was to come next. “You gonna use a condom? Never know where I’ve been.” He grins cheekily up at Saito, which Saito takes with simply a raised brow.

 

“Ordinarily, I’d do so, but you, my dear, I feel wouldn’t be as enjoyable with it.” His hand slows on his length, wanting to draw out the feeling, before he finally slipped into Eames. The anticipation, sometimes, was the best part.

 

Eames, for his part, simply nods. He rests his head back on the pillow, biting his lower lip coquettishly up at Saito. “Then by all means, _enjoy_.” It’s a teasing command, but by all means, Saito plans to do just that.

* * *

They fool around for hours, bringing each other to orgasm more than several times that night. Eames, lost in a pleasurable bliss, became more docile as the night went on. The sharp wit he had greeted Saito with at the bar wasn’t gone forever, merely hidden in favor of sultry whimpers and whines.

 

For his part, Saito enjoyed himself more than he had thought he would. Ever since his wife had passed, he’d turned away from the realm of feminine comforts. Granted, he hadn’t been faithful to her since she’d been his – he was a young foolish man when he’d taken her hand. But what was done was done, and he wasn’t going to let her ghost dictate his future.

 

It hadn’t even dictated his present, when she’d been alive.

 

That night, the windows open to allow the summer air to waft over the both of them, their cooling bodies tangled in the sheets of the bed, Saito broke one of his own rules. He allowed the rentboy to stay.

 

They’d slept in the same bed, and by the time Saito awoke, he was alone.

 

After showering and dressing himself, Saito made one final sweep of the room. He couldn’t find it anywhere.

 

Cufflinks, ring, belt, phone; all small things of value were still intact in the room. What he couldn’t find anywhere was his watch.

 

There was only one option, Eames must have taken it. And while the watch itself would fetch him a rather large sum, why would he take it when he’d already been paid? (The money had been wired into Eames’ account in the car to the apartment; by the time the Brit had been handcuffed and writhing on the bed, his phone had gone off with an alert of the transaction.)

 

Saito leaves the apartment, unsurprised at the treachery, but surprised about being so nonchalant about it. Usually he wouldn’t let such things stand, but for some reason…this man intrigued him.  He wanted to see him again, and this gave him the opportunity to.

 

 _For now,_ he thought as he entered his car, _he can win. Retribution can come later._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fic for Inception, so if it goes well let me know. Also I left the country this takes place in a little ambiguous, just to settle for where it could be. It's not Japan though, because that comes in a little later. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet again.

Later that evening, Saito sent his men back to the bar where he had first met Eames. The watch itself wasn’t important, he could easily buy half a dozen more, and a man in his position rarely had time for sentimentality. As far as Saito was concerned, the watch was just a token.

 

Eames was the real prize.

 

After dinner, Saito often took himself to his parlor, sequestered away from the rest of the house. In this blank white space, artwork from various collections – mostly sculptures – filled the room. This was naught but a portion of Saito’s personal art collection, yet it totaled easily well over six figures in worth.

 

As he stops to brush his fingers gently over the small bonsai tree beneath the far back window, he hears the doors swing open behind him.

 

“Alright, alright, gentlemen. Easy with the rough handling. But, that could just be Mr. Saito’s thing, right boys?” Eames’ voice was impossible to misconstrue as someone else. Just the way he spoke was unique to this man alone, and as Saito looked up, he found himself meeting Eames’ gaze once more.

 

“You know why you were brought here, correct?” Saito asks, not rising to Eames’ taunt. His fingers brush gently over the leaves of the tree, and then he slips his hands into his trousers’ pockets.

 

He was without a jacket now, only in a waistcoat and shirt. He steps closer, the faint water passing through the river in the garden outside filling the silence in the conversation.

 

“I have an inkling. Unfortunately, none of your boys here seem inclined to share. If this is about a repeat performance, I only do those transactions in person. None of this…kidnapping business, you see,” Eames replies, putting his hands in his pockets in a perfect mirroring of Saito’s actions. He was the perfect picture of relaxation, and he steps forward to get closer to Saito’s side.

 

“After our little…excursion last night, I found myself missing something.”

 

Eames grins, a light of wit coming back to his sharp, grey eyes. “That’s not uncommon in my clients, but I don’t do bogo.”

 

Saito barely keeps his mouth from twisting into a frown. “A watch, Mr. Eames. My watch, in particular. It was taken from me. Do you have an idea of where it could be?”

 

The Brit takes a moment to think, looking around at the artwork. His eyes focus on what he knows to be a piece by Mona Hatoum. It spins slowly, one arm smoothing the fine sand within, the other putting grooves into it. The structure was about waist height on Eames, lower for Saito, and it simply continued to spin. Adding and subtracting, disrupting and smoothing; it was a perfect negative and positive balance.

 

After a few moments of watching the structure, just as Saito was about to speak again, Eames continues, “Could you perhaps describe the watch?”

 

“A gold Cartier wrist watch with a black leather band,” the businessman replies, indulging in the thief. He knew Eames took it, but he didn’t wish to get the answers by violence. Not, at least, yet. He was curious what Eames planned to do with it. “With a six figure price tag, I’m sure it could be sold, pawned, or traded, for quite a few things. Which is why I would like it returned, Mr. Eames.”

 

“Oh please, Mr. Saito, simply call me Eames. It’s not as if we have many formalities left, after all,” the shorter man counters, lifting his gaze from the sculpture. “If you don’t mind me saying, this place is rather impressive. It’s worth, I’d wager, just as much as that watch. It’d be a damn shame if you didn’t get it back…or would it even lighten your purse at all?”

 

Saito hums, before stepping closer to Eames. “My property is always dear to me, Eames. I would like that watch returned. I know you have it. Why not just confess?”

 

“Because, my dear,” Eames purrs in return, only a breath away from Saito now, the corner of the moving sculpture between them. “I am afraid, I don’t have it. Your boys can attest – I’m empty handed. Or do you not trust them to get results?” he asks, quirking a brow.

 

“It is not them I don’t trust,” Saito replies, before moving past the thief. “My men will see you out, Mr. Eames.” And just like that, the curtain of formalities falls once more between the two.

 

Saito exits the room with hardly a look back, fleeing his place of relaxation. Ironic, wasn’t it? The place he went to relax, and the man he had purchased to relax, counteracted each other, leaving him more restless than before.

 

A floor down, he can hear Eames walking with two of his guards, leaving out a side door and catching a car in the side street by the massive house. He’d be better off just letting the watch slide.

 

Pouring himself a glass of brandy, he takes a sip, looking out the window. In the distance, clouds surged towards him, dark with the weight of their rain.

 

The next day would be storming.

 

* * *

 

He spent the following morning meeting in the domestic branch of Proclus Global, sitting at the head of the meeting table for nothing short of 4 hours. After his presence was no longer required, he had left the building, heading back to his home.

 

His personal cell phone had been ringing since he’d arrived, his overseas business requiring some guidance. Here he spoke only in Japanese, slipping back into a role he knew quite well. Ordering men to be killed or to put down rival gangs in as fast a fashion as possible to quiet dissent came second nature to him.

 

Forgoing lunch in his dining room, he’d headed back up to his office, intent on checking his email between the two businesses. Walking up the ornate stairs, lunch in hand, Saito was already making a mental list of tasks to accomplish in the next few hours.

 

He opens the door, expecting to be productive, and instead, he finds his desk occupied. Not the chair, no; the actual tabletop of his desk.

 

Taking it all in, he sighs, and puts his lunch on a chair close to the door. “Mr. Eames. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Never mind that he had gotten in here without any of his guards alerting Saito as to the intruder – in fact, judging from the smell of crisp, outdoor air in the room, Eames hadn’t taken the door in at all.

 

Eames looks up from where he’s fussing with the sand in the base of the bonsai tree on Saito’s desk. “Oh, hello there. I’ll admit, I was expecting a bit more of a shock factor. That none of your guards caught me was thrilling, however, you were the prize I had had in mind.”

 

The Brit gets up from the desk, hands in his pockets, and walks over to Saito.

 

“Have a seat,” Saito instructs, circumnavigating the other man and gesturing to the leather seat in front of the desk that was not currently containing his lunch. He sees Eames obey out of the corner of his eye, and settles back in his chair behind his desk. It appears that, aside from the sand being moved in the bonsai tree, nothing was out of place. “You are a mystery, Mr. Eames. But really; why are you here.” It comes out more as a challenge than a question.

 

“I have another proposition for you,” Eames replies, clearly at ease in the situation. He watched Saito’s hands as they moved along his desk, feeling for abnormalities in the aged wood, or changes in the things on his desk. Saito knew he hadn’t gone elsewhere from the office, or else the two guards outside the room would have told him.

 

“And what might that be?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Another night. Together. You and me, like last time.” The words are delivered with confidence, but not cockiness. Eames was certain of his sex appeal, but Saito wasn’t sure of Eames’ motive.

 

“You come in here, break into my private property, and try to win payment from me? After the watch you stole, I hardly assume you need any more help with finances,” Saito replies, his temper flaring. Yes, he was a patient man, but he could be cutthroat when he needed to be.

 

All good qualities for a man in his position.

 

“The watch has not been moved from where it was last,” Eames eventually replies, confirming what Saito already knew. That he had taken it – but he didn’t know why. “If you want it back, give me another night. 300, as a starting price, how does that sound?”

 

Saito, now openly annoyed at the questions, merely sighs and looks out one of the windows in his office. There are faint marks on the bottom of the glass, from the press of a side of a thumb, perhaps. Nothing obvious, but Saito knew what to look for. Any other man would have been fooled.

 

“No,” he murmurs, still looking out the window. “No, I don’t think I will be indulging myself in your company yet again. I have a few higher priorities that are time sensitive. I trust you can see yourself out? Without using my window, that is.”

 

Saito watches as Eames smile fades, the other man’s expression changing a bit. “Of course, Mr. Saito. I’m sorry to have wasted your time,” he murmurs, standing from the chair. “You, I’m sure, know how to find me, if you have a need to talk again.”

 

Eames walks towards the door to the office, his right hand resting on the handle. Pausing, he turns and looks over his shoulder. “Oh, and you really should get some better security in your windows. Wouldn’t want unsavory individuals breaking and entering, yes?” he inquires, quirking an eyebrow and smirking. Then he opens the door and takes his leave, walking confidently past the baffled guards.

 

Saito opens his laptop and clicks the security icon in the corner, watching through the cameras he had littered around his property as Eames left through the front door, plain as day, and began to walk down the private drive, back towards the main road. His step was confident, but his shoulders were lowered slightly.

 

Disappointment. That’s what Eames was displaying.

 

The businessman sits in his chair, elbows resting on the leather arms, his hands steepled in front of him. Lunch forgotten, he contemplated this new information, his analytic personality already at work with this newfound information.

 

Outside, the storm he’d noticed yesterday came to a head with a low grumble. Shortly afterwards the heavens opened, and it began to pour.

 

* * *

 

Saito manages to go a week without thinking too much about the boy. He manages to go seven consecutive days, thinking only about his investments and his own wealth. But he’s still not entirely himself. Never once does he seek pleasure in another, nor does he even venture out like he was prone to doing on weekends, especially after a stressful week like this one had been.

 

It’s now been a week since he’d last set eyes on Eames, yet he finds the confident, witty Brit in every corner of his mind. Normally Saito was excellent at being able to shut down one portion of his life or interests in favor of another portion. But he was playing the waiting game in both occupations he held, either with meetings or for reports of results, and he didn’t have the abilities to keep Eames out forever.

 

Like some kind of a disease, a resilient parasite, thoughts of the rentboy plagued him whenever he was unawares. He’d infiltrated Saito’s subconscious, and he’d been captivated by the notion of seeing him once more.

 

He had to have him.

 

And so, one night, before he was able to truly fall asleep, he indulged himself. He remembered their time together, how Eames had moaned and whispered his name, how he’d effortlessly pleased Saito and himself in turn, how eager he’d been. How eager they both had been.

 

And soon, his thoughts begin to shift. From _Why not just buy him for another night?_ to _Why not have it all the time?_ Thus, the justification began.

 

He’d been analytical of Eames. And while he knew Eames put himself together well and made quite a bit of money from his time with him, that he was only naming 200 for a full night with him, no strings or limitations given, made Saito question his financial stability. When he’d listed 1,000 as his price, he’d seen how Eames had reacted.

 

With a hunger, or a lust. A desperation because he _needed_ it, whether it be the money or the sex.

 

Saito knew it was the money.

 

So, he needed money. And engaged in somewhat risky sex with strangers because of it. Why not offer him a safer alternative that paid much, much better?

 

Then Saito paused, and shook himself away from that thought. Thinking like that was what had led him to his predicament with his late wife. He would be no one’s savior, not again. He wasn’t embedding his heart into another one of these emotional mudpits. He refused.

 

He could enjoy that boy, privately, by giving him a reliable paycheck. A job, permanently. He would, in layman’s terms, become Eames’ sugar daddy. He wasn’t above buying loyalty, or good favor, with gifts or material goods. He thrived in those simple transactions; person likes a thing, make that thing available to that person, that person now likes you. It was a universal truth.

 

To reward his own personal endeavors, he’d pay the boy. In return, the boy would be his privately. A simple business transaction, Saito thought. And if Eames overstayed his welcome, it was a simple as firing him. They could go back to their lives, separate, and return to what they each knew best.

 

Or Saito could have him killed. That was also a viable option, and not one he ever completely shied away from in his lines of work.

 

He reached over to his phone, charging on the bedside table, and typed a quick note to himself.

 

_Tomorrow p.m. Retrieve Eames – **quietly.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wrist watch that Eames stole is the Cartier Rotonde de Cartier Astrotourbillon, which is worth $116,195. Saito is a rather rich man, and Eames is a rather naughty boy.
> 
> Also Eames is about 24 in this, whereas Saito is around 55, so that's why he interchangeably thinks of Eames as a boy, versus a man.
> 
> Once again, let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An arrangement is made.

Eames knows his limits. He knows and creates new ones to buy himself more time, or more money, or more _things._ For example, if he doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to eat, he puts on the best clothing he has, hits up a more expensive venue, and loops dinner into part of his negotiations.

 

_Buy me dinner, and you can choke me._

 

Those had been his words tonight. And boy had it worked, if the bruising he could feel on his neck was anything to go by. But his stomach was full, and he didn’t feel nausea building inside of him, so he called it a successful night.

 

It wasn’t his fault that all his money went into materialistic goods. Well, it sort of was, but he had to look at things logically.

 

Getting a real job required references. And while he could certainly get references in his field of work, it was only to further his involvement in his…activities. Customer referrals, and all that. He couldn’t talk his way into getting a well paying job off the get go that supplied his needs for _things._

 

His flat was never used for customer enjoyment; he never took anyone back to his place. But he did have hotel rooms to pay for. Taxi rides, new clothes, water bills, electricity, drinks, gym membership, casinos, and yes he knew he could easily switch his money over to brighter and better things. To stop living so materialistically.

 

But what fun was that?

 

Eames unlocks his door, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it on his only kitchen chair. He walks into his room, putting the cash in his safe in the back of the closet, behind a false panel of wood. He had a bank account, but in case things went tits up, he had an emergency stash waiting for him.

 

Always waiting, always thinking. That was Eames.

 

He strips the rest of his clothing, stepping into the bathroom and reaching in to run the water. The ring of bruises is already starting to settle in on his neck, as he looked at himself in the mirror. His tattoos seemed blue in the yellow light of his bathroom, and he just sighs in frustration.

 

Damaged goods hardly sold, and because he’d indulged himself, he’d be without employment for a few days, at least. Or, until he could get his hands on some good, non-smudgy concealer. He could only do his best, after all.

 

After showering, wrapped only in towel around his waist, he leaves the steamy bathroom, only to see a stranger in his bedroom, standing by his bedside table. He panics inwardly, but recognizes the state of dress of the stranger, the subtle elegance and obvious expense spent in making this newcomer look as good as he did.

 

The second man further in the house, wearing a tan jacket, confirmed his suspicions.

 

“You Saito’s boys?” Eames asks, giving them a warm smile. He walks over to his dresser, but before his hands are on the drawer, he can hear the click of the man turning off the safety on his pistol. Slowly, he puts his hands up, turning to face the man in his bedroom. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

 

“Boss says he’d like to see you. _Tonight,_ ” the man dictates, his words triggering the second man to come in. Surrounded by suits and guns, Eames has nowhere to run, and they all know it.

 

“And I’d be happy to see him again,” Eames agrees, knowing he may have stepped too far this time. “First, allow me to get dressed?” The towel slips lower, and Eames goes to grab it and move it back up, but the warning sound he gets from the man in the tan jacket makes him freeze.

 

There’s a stare off between the first man and Eames, but when the towel eventually loses it’s grip and falls to the ground, the bodyguard looks away. They both drop their guns, the first man gesturing to the fallen towel. “Get ready. And no funny business, understand?”

 

“Oh, yes sir,” Eames replies, slowly lowering his hands. The two men leave his bedroom, and he gets dressed in casual clothes. He didn’t have time to put together an outfit to impress, instead settling for jeans, a collared shirt, and a jacket.

 

He combs out his hair as best he can, and brushes his teeth to rid his mouth of the flavor of semen, before coming around the corner. “Ready, boys?” he asks, but he’s soon grabbed by his shoulders and forced towards the door.

 

Wisely, he kept his mouth shut as he was escorted out of his building and into the waiting black sports car in the street. He’s forced into the back seat, sitting in between yet a third guard and the man in the tan jacket, and he wonders if this is the last car ride he takes before he dies.

 

He’d thought about his death before. This wasn’t how he had imagined it would go.

 

* * *

 

He’s not killed in the car. The car doesn’t veer off the side of the road, into a divider, or straight into headlong traffic. The driver obeys all traffic laws, and delivers Eames into the same side street that he’d exited through the last time he had been brought in.

 

He’s escorted inside, and he casts a look up. Up, at the looming house above him, and beyond that, to the stars even higher, and beyond even that, into the inky blackness of space itself.

 

The young man takes a breath as he’s guided into the house by firm hands on his elbows and shoulders, only to have those released once they’d crossed the threshold. The house within is dark, only the necessary lights on. There’s no sound of a television on, nor any talking in the house; the house itself didn’t even settle.

 

There was an air of tension about it, and Eames followed the pushing guides up the stairs, deciding listening instead of being a wiseass would be his best bet.

  
And he was a gambling man.

 

He enters the very same office he’d left a week ago, unsurprised that he’d been summoned. Here, however, he waits to be addressed. Sitting in the same leather chair, he looks up at the older, richer, more affluent man. Saito wasn’t making eye contact with him, standing with his back to the room, looking out the window.

 

A week of storms was supposed to be ending just about now, and puddles had been everywhere on the ride in. Lawns had been soaked, and worms writhed on the streets and driveways.

 

“Give us a moment, gentlemen,” Saito murmurs, and then Eames and he are left alone in the room. “I do hope that they didn’t catch you at a bad time. I know the weekends must be rather busy in your line of work.”

 

Eames ignores the taunt, and presses on, feeling that the watch was no longer worth it. “Mr. Saito, what is this all about?” Not if he’d be killed, but Saito didn’t seem like the type of man to want to get his hands dirty. There was a reason he had so many guards.

 

“I have a proposition for you.” The businessman turns around, looking at Eames. Eames notes that Saito has another watch on, but not the same caliber as the one Eames had taken.

 

“And what might that be?”

 

“It is a business transaction, nothing more,” Saito begins, and Eames thinks he can feel his heartbeat in his throat. Outwardly, he remains calm, and just smiles at Saito, encouraging him to go on.  “In exchange for your exclusive services, I supplement your otherwise lost work with a monthly lump sum of estimated revenue lost.”

 

Eames knows business speak. And he knows that the CEO and founder of the second largest energy corporation in the world is bound to speak in business as well. But this late at night, and freshly fucked, Eames finds himself caught off guard. He attempts to break apart Saito’s words, see the plain, layman’s terms beneath.

 

“So…if I’m yours, exclusively, then you’ll pay? You wanna be my sugar daddy?” Eames asks, watching Saito’s reaction.

 

Saito is quiet, but nods, watching Eames in turn. The two men sized each other up, trying to figure out who would cave first.

 

But for Eames, it was a simple decision.

 

After all, never before had a client paid so handsomely without Eames forgoing some of his limits, without Eames having to lie and steal and cheat his way into their sheets and into their wallets. Never before had a client indulged him in his idiosyncrasies, in his kinks, and never before had any client made him feel as _good_ as he had with Saito.

 

In the week they’d been apart, Eames had narrowed his focus. Older, dark haired men, who looked like they had good taste. He’d lose himself in the feel of suits and 1000 thread count sheets, barely keeping himself from whimpering Saito’s name afterwards. He’d filled everything Eames needed – a steady job, money, affluent lifestyle, and in exchange for not having to barter against his own wishes?

 

How could he turn it down?

 

“What are the rules, should I accept this? The terms of use, as it were,” he asks, his excitement showing in his eyes, but not his voice. He could feel Saito reading it off of him, and he felt a thrill he hardly felt with anyone else. To be with someone just as smart as, if not smarter than him was a huge boon to the situation.

 

Eames wasn’t about to chain himself to an idiot. No sir.

 

“The terms are simple, Eames. You are not to be in this office without permission given by me. You must wear a collar, of your choosing, when the time comes. You will wear that collar in both public and private spheres. As for your pay, you will receive 12,000 a month, which you may spend on whatever you like. An additional 2,000 will be given when my business draws me overseas. And, of course, you are to only indulge yourself with me. Should I find out about any infidelity, the results will not be good. Understood?” Saito delivers all of this with a calm air, but Eames can see a bit of excitement there as well. A quick glance to Saito’s hands shows no wedding ring, and he feels himself rapidly accepting.

 

“All is understood, but…what am I supposed to call you, if not your name?” he asks, crossing his legs.

 

“My name will suffice, but if you feel so inclined, “Daddy” will also suffice.”

 

Eames smiles, and nods. “Of course. However, I do have some rules of my own. If I may?” Saito gestures for Eames to continue, and the man does.

 

“I live a materialistic lifestyle, and I want to be indulged. Treated like a princess – no, a goddamn queen. Second, I want transportation anywhere I need. Shopping, bars, casinos – I don’t care if one of your men has to drive me, or if I get my own car, or if I can take a cab. But transportation and travel is key. And, lastly, if I am to be faithful, I need your word that you will be in turn. I would rather not share my earnings with another, you see,” Eames explains, his words true to their very core.

 

He watches as Saito takes in the new information, and then he nods. “All feasible, I assure you. Is there anything else?”

 

Eames continues without pause. “I have to have living accommodations close to you. The commute is too much, and…hang on, how did you know where I lived?”

 

“My men trailed you from the bar to your client’s hotel, and from there, to your apartment. It really was not that hard,” Saito replies, raising a brow and smirking. “You will live here with me. I apologize, I should have made that clearer earlier. You will have rooms here, in this house. Are there any more terms?”

 

Eames pauses a bit, struck by the idea that he’d be sharing this luxurious lifestyle with Saito. He’s speechless for a moment, before nodding. “Yes, there is. But it can wait until after the deal is struck…So. Do we have a deal, Mr. Saito?”

 

Saito nods, and Eames stands, walking over to him. He likes that their physiques are different – he didn’t like when he was with someone who reminded him too much of himself. He holds out his right hand, and Saito takes it, them shaking on the deal.

 

As the handshake finishes, Eames doesn’t let go of Saito’s hand. Slowly, he pulls up his jacket sleeve, revealing Saito’s watch on his wrist, perfectly unharmed.

 

“Here’s your watch back…Daddy.”

 

He sees Saito smirk as he undoes the watch from around his wrist, taking it back into his possession. “You have been a bad boy, haven’t you? Come, I will show you to your room.”

 

* * *

 

Eames follows Saito to his room. Or should he say, _rooms._ He finds himself in a space about as large as his apartment. It’s furnished just to the point of necessity, with a warm green rug on the floor, a queen sized bed, two bedside tables, ceiling lights and a lamp by the bed, and a walk in closet waiting for his clothing. The en suite bathroom has green towels to match the rug, and he walks in, cautiously, expecting it all to be a trap.

 

“This is much more than I ever could have asked for. Thank you,” Eames murmurs, turning around to face Saito, who still stood in the doorway. He’s blushing as he speaks, and he knows Saito can see it.

 

“You are quite welcome, sweetheart. I shall see to it that your clothes and anything else of value are brought over here in the next 24 hours. Is there anything else you need?” Saito asks, leaning against the doorframe.

 

Eames shakes his head, looking around, still in awe that all of this was _his_ , not some random client who happened to have exquisite taste. “No, no I’m…I’m all set. See you in the morning?” He was rather exhausted, for many reasons, and wanted nothing more than to just curl up in the exceptionally fluffy bed.

 

“Of course. Good night,” Saito murmurs, before turning and taking his leave, closing the door behind him.

 

Eames, for his part, strips down to his boxers and climbs into bed, burying himself in the soft and fluffy materials. A sigh escapes him as he’s found the position that pleases him the best, and he slowly slips into sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saito's terms of endearment to Eames aren't really emotionally based, more so scripted via the kink they've chosen to explore. It'll be a while before they fall for each other, believe me. A nice slow burn for these two. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More details, some talking, and quite a lot of exploring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason this took so long is the sex. Not gonna lie. But it's sweet sex? Sweet...kinky sex? Kinky sex with sweet and gentle aftercare? 
> 
> They frick frack.

The next morning, Eames awoke in an unfamiliar place. He didn’t remember having sheets this soft, or pillows this fluffed, anywhere in his apartment. And he remembered his client the night before, but this was _definitely_ not the place he had been taken to earn his money. No, no this was somewhere else entirely.

 

Details from the day prior filtered in slowly as Eames brought himself into a sitting position. He looks around at all the ornate details in the room before a large yawn forces him to close his eyes. When he reopens them, the door is open, revealing Saito standing in the light of the hallway.

 

Eames jolts in surprise, but manages to put a smile on his face as he runs a hand through his hair in an attempt to smooth it. “Morning! How’re you?” His voice is gravelly with sleep, and he clears his throat a little bit to try and wake himself up better.

 

“I am well, and yourself?” Saito asks, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

 

The Brit nods, not really answering the question presented. Rubbing his eyes, Eames tries to wake himself up further. His cheeks and ears flush as he realizes that Saito is watching him attempt to wake himself up. His hands fall back to the comforter as Saito approaches, the other man sitting on the edge of the bed.

 

“Now. Breakfast is waiting for us in the dining room downstairs. There is a robe in the cabinet in the bathroom, if you would prefer that instead of your clothes from last night,” Saito explains, but doesn’t get up from the bed.

 

“Thank you, I’ll give it a looksee.” Eames watches Saito before raising an eyebrow. “I’m still a bit sore from my last client, Daddy – you’re gonna have to wait a bit before I’m able to do anything for you.”

 

“That is not why I am here. We have made some terms about our agreement, but never where it matters most.”

 

Taken aback, the British man blinks. “I had thought that all terms had been agreed upon.”

 

“All but sexually,” Saito replies, and Eames slowly nods in understanding.

 

“Are there things I’m not allowed to do?”

 

“Anything that endangers my life or yours, but to be specific, I had hoped you would share your limits with me. There is no need to bargain sexual favors for money anymore,” Saito explains, reaching up and cupping Eames cheek.

 

Eames leans into the touch, playing the part of obedient little boy second nature. “The things I don’t do are breath play,” he begins. “Or fisting. And no blood play, none of that. But anything else, I’d give it a chance.”

 

He presses his cheek against Saito’s palm, feeling the cool band of metal around his finger in the ring he wore. Aside from that, Saito’s palm was soft, and warm, and Eames likes the way it feels against his clean shaven cheek. Looking up through his lashes at Saito, he waits to see if the businessman has anything else left to say.

 

Instead, he feels Saito run his thumb against his cheek, before his hand brings him closer to Saito. Expecting a kiss, he closes his eyes, but instead, he next feels fingers gently tracing over the bruising on his neck.

 

“If you do not engage in choking, then what do you have to say about this?” Saito murmurs, his fingers following the red and purple marks.

 

“I would…barter sexual favors for meals,” Eames gradually replies. Green eyes slowly open, and he watches how Saito looks at him. Not a lover’s concern, but not simply a customer looking at potentially used goods; Eames didn’t know what to call it.

 

“And this was…common practice?”

 

“For me personally, yes.” The Brit takes a steadying breath, before he looks up at Saito. “Am I allowed to get dressed now, Daddy?”

 

Saito pauses for a moment, dropping his hands from Eames’ body. He looks him up and down, not in the predatory way Eames was used to – this was something much softer. “You know, you don’t have to call me that if you don’t wish to. Titles hold gravity,” he says, maintaining eye contact with Eames.

 

Swallowing slightly, Eames lifts his chin, just a hair short of petulantly. “You’ll find I give myself over to others rather easily. There’s a reason I was able to be bought.”

 

There’s a moment of tension between the two men, each fighting inner battles in tandem. Dark eyes meet pale gray hues, before the gaze is broken by the turning of a head.

 

“Of course. I will meet you downstairs,” Saito murmurs, standing and adjusting his waistcoat. He turns towards the door, hesitating only for a moment, before exiting.

 

Eames exhaled, once he was certain Saito wouldn’t hear. He gives himself a moment to compose himself, before sliding out of bed.

 

He was too hungry to wait.

 

* * *

 

Eames dressed himself in the robe that Saito had pointed out, and had simply gone commando in the jeans he’d worn the night before.

 

They further discussed limits over breakfast, the ornate room empty save for them, their meals, and a man Eames had never seen before. He was tall, broad shouldered, and looked like a body guard – the Brit just hadn’t seen him around before.

 

Eames watched as Saito spoke to the other man in fluent Japanese, taking it all in. He spreads some butter on his roll, taking a bite out of it before switching gears and eating some of the grapes provided. He never was a person to take too long on just one portion of his meal – he wanted to experience everything that a plate could offer.

 

As he chews, he hears his name being discussed between the two gentlemen, and he lifts his gaze, looking at the two of them. Saito finishes his conversation with no hurry, before facing Eames and switching to English.

 

“This is Tamotsu, he is my head of security. Any concerns you have regarding travel, personal safety, or if you need to get into contact with me when I am not here, he is who you should talk to,” Saito explains.

 

Eames nods, sizing up Tamotsu. He knows he’s shorter than him – he’s shorter than most men in this house, surprisingly and unfortunately. And though he knows that he can hold his own in a bar fight, he wonders about self defense.

 

“Does this mean that I’m gonna have a security detail if I choose to go out?” he asks, intrigued by the idea.

 

“Yes, though, not in an obvious manner,” Saito replies. “Tamotsu has been my head of security for years now. He is aware of the terms of our arrangement – and he will make sure you follow through. Is that clear?”

 

Eames gives Saito an easy smile, inclining his head in a nod. “Yes, Daddy. Crystal.”

 

* * *

 

That first day was spent with Saito giving Eames a tour of the house and grounds, with Tamotsu following. Of course, calling it a house was really more of a stretch. It was a borderline palace, but not secluded in any way, unlike what Eames would have thought. In an upscale neighborhood, to be sure, but something of this magnitude would be found in the rolling greens of Northern Europe, at the end of a long tree covered driveway. When he told Saito this, he’d received a smirk in reply.

 

“I’m rather partial to postwar British artwork,” he had admitted. “But what I have here is a blend of my two worlds. Heritage is important, little one. Remember that.”

 

Eames had nodded along with the words, confused about the meaning but accepting them nonetheless.

 

The gardens had been impressively kept, and Eames found the style of Western meets Eastern rather tastefully done. He’d already known where Saito’s office was, and his own bedroom, and the artwork parlor, but he’d been shown several other rooms as well. Among them was the library, rather expansive and covering a whole manner of decades, if the spines of the books were to be believed. The kitchen was extravagant, though Eames had noticed Saito appeared out of place there. Like a man who sent others in here to supervise things, but never actually dirtied his own hands. Tamotsu seemed relaxed, if there was such a thing for the serious mannered man. Eames found it all rather amusing, but he himself enjoyed the kitchen.

 

He knew his way around one, and knew how to make the most out of nothing. He vaguely remembered seducing a few meals from a head chef at a catering company, and smiled despite himself at the memories. A girl walked by carrying a bushel of apples, and he nabs one out of the bowl, crunching into it.

 

“You won’t have to spend any time in here, if you so choose. It can be rather…” Saito trailed off, watching a woman unpacking groceries into various cabinets. She pulls a whole chain of sausage links out of the brown paper bag, cutting them into manageable lengths and putting them into plastic bags.

 

“Busy?” Eames supplies, looking up at Saito, taking his eyes off the whole operation. “I don’t mind. I rather fancy busy rooms. Keeps me entertained, you know?”

 

“I am aware. You…may come back when the tour is over, or else I’m afraid we will run out of time.”

 

“Time…for what?” he asks, taking another bite of his apple.

 

Saito gives him a wry look. “I do have work to accomplish. You know this.”

 

Eames pouts, the look dramatized on his full lips. “I know, I know. Still sucks though.” He frowns and gives one last longing look to the kitchen, before turning away. He makes his way out the room, hearing Saito murmur a few words in Japanese to Tamotsu.

 

He waits until they’ve left as well, Tamotsu writing something down on a notebook. When Eames sneaks a glance, all he sees is Japanese characters, and inwardly bemoans his ineptitude at this language. Briefly, he debates finding some kind of Japanese tutoring online. He’d need some if he were to be any good at being nosy.

 

He feels a hand on his wrist, guiding him away from the guard. Turning, he meets Saito’s gaze, and offers a cheeky smile by way of explanation. “Sorry, Daddy. Got carried away.” The staring continues, before Eames slips a bit closer, kissing Saito fully on the mouth.

 

The businessman’s hands come around Eames’ back, holding him there as he returns the embrace. For Eames, it’s an apology kiss, and he pulls back, looking up at Saito with a properly chastised look. “I take it looking isn’t something to reward, is it?”

 

“No, little one. No it is not,” he murmurs, his hand coming up and cupping Eames’ cheek, running his thumb along his lower lip.

 

Adding fuel to the fire, Eames darts his tongue out to lick at Saito’s thumb, lightly taking the digit into his mouth. “How about now?” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the pad of Saito’s thumb.

 

He smirks as he sees Saito’s eyes darken, and happily follows Saito back upstairs. They take a left into Eames’ room, Saito closing the door behind them.

 

Any witty one-liner he may have had was taken away as soon as he felt Saito’s hand in his hair. Saito guides Eames towards him, the two of them kissing once more. Bringing his own hands up, he slid them up Saito’s chest and over his shoulders, locking his fingers behind the tycoon’s neck. Hungrily, their tongues moved against each other, Eames feeling himself slowly being walked backwards, until his ass hit the edge of the bed.

 

Pulling back, cheeks flushed and eyes dark, Eames goes to scramble up onto the bed, before a hand on his shoulder stops him. “Wha--?”

 

“On your knees, little one.” His voice is soft, yet Eames knows he can’t ignore a direct order.

 

He slides off the bed, sinking to his knees. He then brings his hands up, running them along Saito’s legs, grey eyes looking up at him. “What would you have me do?”

 

“You’re going to put that mouth of yours to a good use. You would do well to learn manners, first and foremost. And talking back to me is no way to behave,” Saito murmurs.

 

Eames straightens up, intrigued by this shift. He had expected some form of structure, but he hadn’t anticipated this amount of control. He _liked_ it. He liked the challenge it posed. Breaking rules was only fun if there were rules to break, after all.  

 

“Of course, Daddy,” he purrs, his hands sliding up to Saito’s belt, slowly pulling the leather strap out of the belt loops and through the golden buckle. “Anything else?”

 

Eames doesn’t expect the light, reprimanding slap against his knuckles. Grey eyes meet honeyed brown, and Eames can’t help the smirk on his face.

 

“Do not use your hands.”

 

Obediently, Eames takes his hands away, folding them behind his back. He watches, with a bit of a hunger in his expression, as Saito removes his trousers and underwear. Leaning forward, he softly licks up the underside of Saito’s length, mouthing at the warm skin.

 

“Desperate, sweetheart?” Saito coos, sliding his hand into Eames’s hair. “Take it slowly…show that you really want it.”

 

The Brit was used to having men talk to him when he serviced them, women too, but he finds himself actually _wanting_ to please Saito. He’d seen the wealth of the man only earlier in that day, he’d seen the extent of his reach, with how each and every employee watched him in equal parts fear and respect. He’d seen how they’d been treated.

 

He wanted in on that.

 

He wanted to slip into the realm of gold and suits, of intelligence and riches; he wanted to learn all of the rules and shatter them. He wanted to be a special character, a pet favorite, someone of equal wit and respect as Saito himself. He wanted all of that.

 

_So yes_ , Eames thought as he took Saito into his mouth, closing his eyes as he swallowed around him. _I’ll show that I really want it._

He takes Saito entirely into his mouth, knowing his gag reflex was long since gone. (Years of servicing strangers will do that to you.)

 

He can hear Saito’s sounds of pleasure, and he knows he has exactly what he has to do to bring him over the edge. His tongue massages the underside as he bobs his head. His jaw aches a little bit, but he likes the feeling.

 

Suddenly, the hand in his hair holds him steady, stopping his movements. He casts a look up at Saito, feeling himself guided away from him. “Yes, Daddy?” he mumbles, his lips red and wet, saliva dripping down his chin. “I want more…”

 

“I am sure you do, little one, but Daddy has other plans for you. Get on the bed.”

 

Eames looks up at Saito, an obvious tenting in the kneeling mans jeans. It was the first time Saito had referred to himself using that label, and it excited Eames greatly. He stands, getting on the bed. Saito motions towards Eames for him to remove his pants, and he follows the direction immediately.

 

Once Eames’ bottom half is naked, Saito grabs Eames’ hips, fingers trailing teasingly over his skin there. “Present yourself,” Saito murmurs, and Eames eagerly spreads his legs, bending his knees against his chest.

 

His cock bobs as he sees Saito’s smirk. “Such a good boy.” The praise hits all of his needs at once, and he can’t help the little whine that comes out.

 

“Daddy, I wanna cum,” he pouts, playing up the act and rolling his hips in Saito’s hands.

 

“Not with your demonstrated behavior. You may show that you want it, but that does not erase how you misbehaved earlier.” Saito tightens his grip on Eames’ hips, holding him still. He reaches down into the bedside table, pulling the drawer open to reveal a small tube of lube inside.

 

Eames furrows his brow, and looks at Saito questioningly. “When did you…?”

 

“I had the room outfitted for our purposes shortly before my men brought you here. I was confident you would accept, and even if you didn’t, no one else knew,” the businessman replies.

 

Eames’ retort was cut off by the feeling of a cold, slick finger prodding at his entrance. He automatically relaxes, and he knows that Saito knows it doesn’t take much to get him open enough for some fun.

 

So, needless to say, he doesn’t expect there to be a wet palm taking his cock into its grip. A choked sound escapes as he sits up a bit, watching as Saito strokes his length and scissors his fingers within him. That choked gasp turns into a moan as Saito flicks his thumb over his tip, and he falls back down to the pillows with a whimper. “Daddy…”

 

“I’m going to enjoy what you have to offer, little one. You don’t get to cum until I have said so. Understood?”

 

Eames whines again, but when Saito curls his fingers against his prostate, he can’t help himself. “Yes, Daddy, whatever you say, Daddy. J-just…” He turns his head to the side, biting at his pillow to muffle himself. He could feel himself opening around Saito’s fingers, his body relaxing the more he was touched.

 

But when Saito’s hand slipped from Eames’ weeping length up to his tattooed chest, and began to tease his left nipple, he tightened back up again. He knew this game, knew it quite well. And he knew that by the end of it, he’d be an over sensitized mess.

 

Because, while certain things were learned after being a rentboy for so long (i.e. no gag reflex and an easier time “opening up”, so to speak), other things stayed the same.

 

Including Eames’ tendencies towards being easily overstimulated.

 

He knows this, and as he feels Saito pinch his nipples, he can’t help how he lifts his hips, searching for more touches. He’s dribbling precum rather freely now, and he feels Saito adding more lube.

 

“Not that you need it, little one,” Saito murmurs, his voice thick with lust. “But I rather enjoy seeing how wet you can become.”

 

The businessman crawls over Eames’ body – through the fog of lust, Eames isn’t sure when Saito took his shirt off – and he feels him mouthing along his neck. His boss’s soft tongue brushing against the bruises he’d suffered at the hands of his last client, which, when coupled with the hot, heavy weight of Saito’s cock laying alongside his on his stomach, the wet slide of the tycoon’s fingers within him, up to three now, and the way he teasingly kept persistently rubbing at his nipples, pushed Eames almost to the edge. Selfishly, he bucks his hips up, their cocks rubbing together, and he feels Saito’s breath hitch against his skin.

 

He unclenches his jaw from the corner of the pillow and whimpers as he continues to grind his hips against Saito’s fingers and cock. “Please, Daddy, give it to me. I wanna cum, just lemme cum…” He’s surprising himself with how genuine the begging has become, and the kisses and bites he’s getting along his throat only add to the pleasure.

 

Regretfully, the sensations soon stop, replaced by Saito’s voice very close to his ear. “If you cum before I do,” the elder man whispers, “Your punishment will be much worse. Now – are you ready for Daddy, sweetheart?”

 

“ _Yes!_ Yes, I am, I am I am, Daddy please…!” Eames’ composure was cracked, and he wanted nothing more than to just reach his orgasm. He feels Saito’s fingers withdrawing from his ass, and before he can be too disappointed, there’s a wet hand gripping both their cocks, slicking them together. Eames' precum flows freely, mixing with Saito’s and the lube, creating an even bigger mess between their thighs. He bucks his hips up, desperately fucking Saito’s hand, loving the slide of his cock against Saito’s, the sensation of Saito’s hot and heavy sac rubbing against his own as he sought pleasure.

 

And then, the hand was removed.

 

He can’t stop his groan of displeasure, but it quickly turns to moans of pleasure as he feels Saito entering him. Even when full to the point of distraction, Eames still wants more. He wriggles a bit, trying to coax Saito into giving in and fucking him right then and there.

 

But instead, it’s a slow, even pace. The wet hand from before is back around Eames’ cock, the other holding one of his thighs to keep his legs from closing.

 

“So ready and flushed,” Saito coos, tracing one finger along the throbbing underside of Eames’ length. “And so tight too.” That finger makes its way down Eames’ cock, along the thick vein there, and rubs along his balls with the same teasing slowness.

 

Eames whimpers, and tries to speak, but Saito cuts him off.

 

“Shhhh, shhh little one. I know you’re sorry for being nosy, but these lessons still have to be learned.” The finger rubbing his balls becomes Saito’s hand, cupping there, his pinky finger slipping down and rubbing his perineum. The soft touches against his flesh drive Eames further to the precipice of his orgasm, and he’s not sure how much longer he can hold off.

 

“Don’t cum, don’t you dare. You don’t want to upset me, right?”

 

“N-no, no Daddy…I don’t.” It’s as much as Eames can get out, his voice wavering as the pleasure mounts. One of Saito’s thrusts hits Eames’ prostate dead on, and the Brit arches his back suddenly, trying to angle his hips to get Saito to hit there once more.

 

“Exactly. Because you want to prove that you can be a good boy, correct? To say sorry?” Saito purrs, his hips finding the angle Eames was looking for, and picking up speed.

 

“ ** _Ah!_** N-n…y-yes! Yes I do! I do I do I… _please_ let me c-um, Daddy, **_please_** …” Eames cries, gasping in pleasure each time Saito bottomed out within him. The hand that had been cupping his balls now circles the base of his cock, squeezing there to keep him from cumming. His tip is slowly turning purple from the amount of blood there, his orgasm nearly upon him.

 

Saito doesn’t respond, and a few moments later he stills above Eames, groaning in pleasure. Eames sobs in frustration as he bucks his hips, feeling the wet warmth of Saito’s release fill him. Combined with the excessive lube from before, and his own precum, and Eames knows he’s wetter than a woman between his legs.

 

After Saito’s finished, he remains buried in Eames, but removes his hand, now gently rubbing his thumb under Eames’ tip. The Brit moans as he cums, a few drops landing on his chin, the rest painting his chest and stomach in streaks of white. He’s writhing as the pleasurable waves wrack through him, the convulsions slowly dying down to smaller and smaller twitches with every pass of Saito’s thumb.

 

When Eames has finally emptied himself out, he looks up blearily at Saito, lips parted and expression dazed. He expected Saito to pull out, clean himself up, and leave Eames to his business. And when Saito finally did pull out, he readied himself for that scenario.

 

Instead, he got a kiss pressed to his forehead, and a murmured command; “Wait here.”

 

Saito walked into the bathroom, but the moment he left the bed, Eames stopped following his movements, instead closing his eyes. He listens to Saito rummaging around in the cabinets, the sound of his own breathing just beginning to settle down. He can also feel his Daddy’s cum – and what a thrill that idea was, his _Daddy’s_ cum – beginning to drip out of him. It’s a messy feeling, but he doesn’t mind.

 

He didn’t realize he had been drifting off until Saito came back. Clean and dry hands gently turned Eames back onto his back from where he’d curled up, and then a warm wet cloth gently wiping him clean. His cheeks flushed a little – hardly noticeable, however, given how he tended to blush anyway during sex – at how truly “little” he felt.

 

Saito didn’t seem to mind as he cleaned him up, and Eames for one, was glad for the help. “Thank you, Daddy,” Eames mumbles as Saito finished up. He didn’t anticipate the older man to help him out of bed, nor into the bathroom.

 

He blinks as he sees his usual body wash, shampoo, conditioner, and soap already in the shower. He looks at Saito, making a small confused noise as the other man helps him into the already running warm spray.

 

“I did tell you that I would bring your things here. Although you did seem to be running low, so I had them get you new bottles. These are the correct things, yes?” Saito asks, stepping into the spacious glass shower as well.

 

It was one of those that had water coming out of the walls as well as the ceiling, and the shelving was built into the parts of the shower that were actual walls, not just glass. Eames had never been in a shower this fancy, not even in hotels, and the still alert part of his brain was grateful that Saito had seen fit to turn the shower on already, as he wouldn’t have figured out how to work it at all.

 

He gives a nod of agreement to Saito, and stands in the warm spray, letting it relax him. When his hair is properly soaked, he reaches for his shampoo. His wrist is stopped as he pulls back, and Saito gently pours some into his own hands. With a gesture, he motions for Eames to turn around.

 

Eames wordlessly follows the instructions, and gives a quiet moan of appreciation when Saito begins to shampoo his hair for him. The feeling of having someone else dote on him after one of these occurrences was honestly quite different. He wasn’t used to it at all.

 

Usually, by now, he was just able to rouse himself to wash himself off quickly, before leaving the client with cash in hand, or money wired into his account already, and on his way back home. To be washed like this, doted on and catered to; it truly was the pampering he had demanded when they’d discussed their terms.

 

Once he and Saito were completely washed and dried – Saito had dried him off as well, despite Eames feeling more alert now – they walked back out to a cleanly made bed with new sheets, and their discarded clothing picked up and removed from the floor. A new suit lay out for Saito, and silk pajamas were folded on the pillow, intended for Eames’ later use.

 

The shorter man takes in all of this, before looking up at Saito. “Your people are quite efficient, aren’t they?”

 

“They are used to not asking questions, and simply doing what needs to be done,” Saito replies, beginning to dress himself.

 

Eames crosses over closer to the bed, running a hand over the pajamas. “You’re not staying?” he asks, not meeting Saito’s gaze.

 

“I’m afraid not, little one,” Saito murmurs, buttoning his shirt. “I still have calls to make, and a meeting that I will be late for if I do not leave now.”

 

Eames turns and checks the clock on the table behind him. “4:37pm…and you still have meetings?”

 

“It is across the city, and the drive time is difficult. You know how traffic is. I should be back by 7pm. If you wish, dinner will be waiting for you in the dining room we had breakfast in. You also could have it brought to your room.” Saito finishes his outfit with two sterling silver cufflinks, and then turns to cup Eames’ cheek.

 

Without fail, the younger of the two leans into his touch, his well-fucked docile nature prevailing any witty comments he would have otherwise made. “Yes, Daddy?”

 

“You did very well today. I’m proud of you,” Saito murmurs, leaning down and gently kissing Eames.

 

The Brit smiles into the kiss, but refrains from touching Saito, lest he never leave. “Thank you. May I sleep now?”

 

“Yes, of course. I will see you later.”

 

Eames watches as Saito turns and leaves, closing the door behind him. Once the door is closed, the Brit dresses himself in the pajamas, shivering at the smooth feeling of the cool silk on his skin. Then he hangs his towel up in the bathroom, giving his teeth a brush and his neck a once over.

 

He could already tell the difference in bruises given to him from Saito and given to him by the idiot from two nights prior. Thankfully, those bruises were already starting to fade. Soon, there would be nothing left but Saito’s marks on him.

 

Eames smirked at the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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